


Call Me

by shannie541



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Deathfic, Gen, Other, Pre-pilot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-19 03:06:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shannie541/pseuds/shannie541
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU, pre-pilot. While Sam's away at Stanford, he gets left a series of voice messages detailing the events of the day that he's missed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call Me

The smell of summer rain hung heavy in the air when Sam Winchester stumbled clumsily to his apartment. His arm was slung around Jess's thin frame while she fiddled with the key to unlock and open the door. Sam stumbled through the door and to the living room couch in the darkness, nearly tripping over the lop-sidded coffee table he bought from a yard sale after being in Paolo Alto for only a short while. He toed off his shoes and hissed when Jess flipped on the light switch. She smirked and shook her head, curls falling into her face and Sam smiled, feeling the warmth of cheap tequila spread through his gut and redness danced across his nose.

 

"Looks like you really enjoyed yourself there, Sam." She shut the door behind her, perhaps with more force than necessary, and slipped out of her shoes before walking to the back bedroom with a smirk. “You’re such a light weight.”

 

“Am not!” He called back.

 

In the darkened bedroom, Jess clicked on the end table lamp and glanced down at Sam's closed phone that chirped repeatedly, indicating a missed call. She picked up the phone and her brows drew down when she opened it and saw that there were 17 missed calls in the span of the two hours they were gone.

 

"Hey, Jess! 's awf'l lonely out there by my l'nsome. What're you doin'?" Sam slurred as he walked up behind Jess into their bedroom of their tiny apartment. He flopped down on the bed with a groan and the spring creaked under his weight. "Wha's up?"

 

"You gotta few missed calls there, Sam. It's enough to make a girl wonder if you're seeing someone else. Luckily for you, I'm not the jealous type." Jessica handed the phone to Sam and quirked up an eyebrow. He watched her for a moment before turning his attention to his phone, blinking away his drunken fog.

 

"Seems important. There's messages, too."

 

He grumpled something unintelligible while he scrolled through his call log. Although the names weren't saved in that phone anymore, he recognized most of the numbers. Most were from one of John's burner phone, there were three from Bobby's, one from Dean's and the last one was a number he didn't recognize. He cleared his throat and risked a glance to Jess and found her sneaking quick looks from the corner of her eye while she took out her earrings. "Mus' be importan'."

 

"You should check them. I'll be in the kitchen."

 

Sam nodded even though Jess's back was to him as she walked to the kitchen. He frowned down at his phone in one hand and pinched the bridge of his nose with the other and let out a sigh of frustration. In the three years he’d been at Stanford, communication with John and Bobby had been all but nonexistent, but Dean attempted to reach out often. At first. When Sam had decided to give up returning his messages, Dean’s calls had all but stopped, too. In at silence, Sam knew that they were okay. He found relief in his coldness and relished in the freedom it allowed him to enjoy. Dean’s missing out, he’d think to himself when he was successfully dragged away from his books to a campus party with drunken co-eds.

 

He put the phone to his ear, readying himself to hear the messages. "You have eight unheard voice messages." Sam huffed.

 

"Sam, it's Dad. Where the hell are you? Call me when you get this message." There was a pause and John cleared his throat before continuing coldly. "It's important."

 

Sam furrowed his brow. Same ol', same ol' and he quickly pounded the 7 key to delete the message.

 

John's next message came 30 minutes after the first and the irritation in his voice in the first message seemed to have been replaced with anger and annoyance that seeped through. "Sammy. I wouldn't have gotten you the damn phone if I thought you were gonna forget how to use it. Call me." Sam pushed the 7 key once again and rolled his eyes. As John's anger rose, so did Sam's until he strangled the phone tightly in his hands. When their shouting matches escalated in intensity before Sam ran away to the coast, they’d shout until their faces were red and their throats were raw. Dean be quick to intercede, and hand to both of their chests if they were getting too close, too aggressive, and he'd swear that they only reason they fought (about hunting, Sam's homework or haircut, John's training schedule, the weather, whatever…) was because they were more alike than different. John would mutter a string of obscenities under his breath but Sam knew there was truth in Dean’s words; Bobby had told him as much every time he’d catch him with his nose in a book relating to a hunt. Dean was smart. When it came to hunting, Sam would often times wonder when the day came that he became more skilled than their father and he could read people as if he had an insight to their souls. This was also the case when it came to the relationship between Sam and John as well as Dean’s own relationship with their father. The thought brought the tightness of jealousy to Sam’s chest at the thought that he could so easily know what made either of them tick with minimal effort. But, he blinked and swallowed that pain away and continued listening to his messages.

The next message played and Sam balled his free hand into a fist on his thigh. "Sam. It's Bobby. I know your Daddy's been tryin' to call you and you haven't been answerin'. Usually, I make it my business to stay out of whatever's goin' on between the two of you…that's more Dean's gig than mine. But, son, you need to answer your phone. It's Dean…" Bobby sighed heavily into the phone. When he began to speak again, his voice was tight and controlled and tired-sounding. "Dean's in a bad way, Sam. Call your Daddy. He’d come hollering until he was blue in the face if he knew I was calling you, kid, but it’s important. Please, Sam."

At some point during Bobby's message, Sam stood from his bed and his earlier anger flushed away, leaving deep-seated concern rippling through his stiffened posture. His stomach clenched and his heart danced against his ribs and the next message played. He hadn't realized until he nearly dropped his phone that he was shaking. Trembling. Waiting for the next message to say that Dean had made a miraculous recovery or that it had been some twisted joke all along to get Sam to come back. He’d be happy with either one.

"Sammy…" John's exasperated voice hitched and even without being there, Sam could easily picture John running a hand down his stubbled cheek. "I know – I know we left off on a bad foot and I'm sorry. Really, I am. Please, I'm begging you here, kid. Call me back or just answer your phone. Dean's – he's sick and fuck, Sammy, it's bad. But they don't know the things we know, right?" Even under the forced optimism, Sam could hear the desperation ring in John's voice. "Call me. We can fix this."

Sam's knees wobbled where he stood and he found himself stumbling back onto the bed with a wavering sigh. He brushed his bangs out of his face with an unsteady hand and his eyes stung with the promise of warm tears and his chest tightened while the next message played.

"Hiya, Sammy." Dean's greeted. Despite the light tone of his words, Sam’s stomach plummeted when he listened intently and heard just how forced the words were and how tired Dean sounded. "Long time… no speak, dude. What's up with… that?" He sounded weak. His sentences were peppered with awkward pauses and if Sam tried hard enough, he could hear him wheezing and struggling for air. "Listen, I know…Dad and Bobby have been callin' you all….night and you haven't answered. I'm glad…Didn't need…a long distance…chick-flick…moment." Dean paused again and coughed rough and loud and Sam flinched just listening to them. He could hear his gasps for air before he cleared his throat and paused again. The all-too-familiar beep-beep of a heart monitor was faint in the background and Sam swallowed thickly, noting that the pace was much too quick.

"I keep…tellin' them that…you're probably studying…or banging that…hot girlfriend of yours and living the college life." There was more coughing and Dean pounded on his chest. "Shit, Sam. I know you're….gonna be pissed about all this...but…why couldn't you…just answer your….phone? Or returned my calls? It would've…been good to…hear your voice, kid. I miss ya, Sammy. I didn’t realize…that I’d miss having…you around after…all this time." Dean sniffled for a moment and when he spoke again, Sam could hear the tears he knew Dean tried his damnedest to hide. "I'm scared, Sammy." There was another long moment where Dean didn't say anything and Sam would've thought the call had cut out if the heart monitor wasn't beeping and echoing in the background as it slowed its pace. "'m tired, Sam. 'm sure Dad or…Bobby'll call you later. Pains in the ass…both of 'em. Dad's gonna…need you…after all of this is over. It’s weird, y’know? Part of me’s…glad that it’s…almost done but the other is…fucking pissed. I wanted…other things...out of life, too. But you can’t change…the past, I guess. You better be livin’… it up enough for the both of us.  
Look, Bobby’s comin’…so I’ll – “ Dean cut himself off abruptly and Sam could hear a wry chuckle. “they’ll talk to you later. Love ya, Sammy. I'll…tell Mom…you said hey."

Sam shook on the bed. Despite the warm July breeze that floated through the lone open window in the bedroom, he shivered and held the phone to his ear so tightly he feared that he'd break it.

The next message came a little over an hour after Dean's and it was John again. Sam’s eyes slammed shut and he exhaled a shaky breath. And, honestly, he wouldn't have been pissed if it meant everything he'd just heard had been a part of some bad joke and that Dean wasn't laid up in a hospital somewhere thisclose to coughing up a lung. Dean hated hospitals, after all.

John didn't speak right away. This time, there was no beeping of the heart monitor in the background, just John's ragged breathing. "Sam?" His voice sounded hollow and Sam felt sick. "Sammy. Why didn't you just answer your phone?!" John must have pulled the phone away from his ear. Sam could hear him still, John's voice booming in the background, thick with emotion, as he shouted a string of expletives to someone somewhere. "Don't unhook that! He’s not gone! And he needs that shit for the pain! Wait, no. Please. Do something! Save my boy, please!"

Sam could also hear another voice in the background. A woman; her voice soft and sad-sounding, trying to contain John's rage. "Sir, I'm sorry. We've done all we could for your son. I'm so sorry. He’s at peace now."

John didn’t speak to Sam for a while after that. Instead, Sam heard him call out for Bobby and heard their grief-stricken pleas and sobs. His voice was broken and fragile as he sobbed into the phone, resuming his conversation with Sam’s voicemail. "He's so still, Sammy. So pale and so still. Dean's not supposed to be like that. Fuck. FUCK!"

Sam wiped away at the steady flow of tears that ran down his cheeks and stifled a sob to hear what John was saying.

The next message was Bobby again. His voice was hushed and he spoke slowly, “Your brother’s not alone, Sam. I’m sittin’ here with him now and if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he was sleepin’. He looks so much like he did as a boy when your Daddy brought you over to my place for the first time. Dammit! This ain’t right. It ain’t right! Call me.”

The last message was from the number Sam didn’t recognize right away. He sat back on the bed and took deep breaths while he waited for the message to play.

"Sam Winchester, this is Dr. Johnson at St. Vincent’s Hospital in Cincinnati, Ohio. I'm calling at the request of your brother, Dean Winchester, in case he succumbed to his illness without reaching you. He’s asked me to contact you in the worst-case scenario, fearful that his family wouldn’t be able to do so. There are a few items your brother possessed that he asked me to see that you got incase…well, this happened. The largest one isn’t uh, not exactly something that I can mail, but I'll hold them in the area for when you get the chance to pick them up.

Sam, I'd only known your brother a short bit of time while he was undergoing treatment but he, um, he seemed like a great young man that cared very deeply for you. He spoke about you all the time during our sessions. He’s touched a lot of people. But in the cases of our nursing staff, not as many people as he would’ve liked, still, the point still stands.” The doctor laughed quietly then released a deep sigh before continuing. Anyways, I am truly so very sorry for your and your family's loss. Don't hesitate to call me back at this number if you need anything at all. I mean it. Your brother deserves that much. Call me when you feel up to it."

The phone fell from Sam's grasp onto the bed. He held on to his middle as if to keep himself from disintegrating and fell into intense sobs that wracked his body. Jess ran into the room and wrapped a comforting arm around him, urging him to explain what happened. He shook his head and reached again for his phone, dialing his father's number.


End file.
